


anytime i hear you weep, suddenly i can't eat, can't sleep, not until i've done all that i can do

by Mikaeru



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Cuddles, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 11:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikaeru/pseuds/Mikaeru
Summary: From thekinkmeme: Crowley wakes up from a particularly bad nightmare next to his angel. Aziraphale tries to reassure him and make him feel better, lots of cuddling and Crowley insists that he wants sex to take his mind off of it. Aziraphale of course has never denied Crowley anything and makes love to him, slow and gently, until Crowley falls back to sleep.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 131





	anytime i hear you weep, suddenly i can't eat, can't sleep, not until i've done all that i can do

"Angel? Angel, where are you?"

Their bedroom is spacious enough for two closets, three bookshelves and a gigantic mirror, but now Crowley feels the walls on himself, suffocating every pore on his skin. The nightmare is still holding him down with its grimy tentacles, it's trying to choke him, and Crowley is afraid for his life. He knows - he does, he absolutely does - that the only thing that stands between him and death is Aziraphale, but he can't find him now, he doesn't know where his angel is, did Heaven at last get him, where -

"Darling, I'm here, I'm here, breathe, I'm here." Aziraphale turns on the lamp next to him, takes Crowley's face in his hands.

Oh, oh, he's here, he's here, they're together, they finally live together in a wonderful home with a garden and books and sweet treats and coffee and there's something under the bed he can hear it it's panting it's about to -

"Darling, you're not breathing," Aziraphale says, smoothing his hair out, "and I know we don't need to but it would calm you down immensely, can you try for me? After me, sweetheart, all right?"

Aziraphale breathes in and out, slowly and carefully, and Crowley tentatively mirrors him, choking a bit on himself. "Good, darling, so very good, we're doing it a few more times, all right? Deep breaths for me, my love."

Aziraphale's hands are warm and heavy against him, soft and delectable. Crowley is equally full of love and fright. (there was a monster covered in eyes and fangs and he was trying to -)

"Stay with me, Crowley, stay here. Where are we, my own? Can you tell me?"

"We -" he chokes out, "we're in our home. In Firle. We bought peaches this morning. And strawberries and - and beef sirloin."

"Very good, my love," smiles Aziraphale, peppering his head with kisses, slowly and delicately. "One of your nightmares again?"

"I - I don't wanna -"

"There's no need to talk about it, beloved."

There's half a second of silence, heavy and bloody, during which Crowley is afraid his chest would explode.

"Just – just - hold me, please." His voice trembles; it's made of glass powder, itchy against his throat and tongue.

Aziraphale obliges, taking him into his arms so tightly his heart beats against Crowley's. Clever inventions, hearts. Aziraphale keeps on kissing him - hair, forehead, neck. His skin is warm and perfect against Crowley's body, his own skin tepid at most. He's suddenly flooded by all the love he has stored during the millennia for him, so much that the world isn't big enough for it, maybe not the entire outer space. Aziraphale's voice is honey, low and thick on his skin. He's kissing him still, slightly rocking on the spot. It's like being on a boat on the surface of the calmest lake.

"Do you love me, angel?", he asks in a small, pitiful voice, words almost slurred.

"Oh, Crowley," and how can he make his name sound so beautiful? As if he's giving birth to it again every time, "you know there are not enough words in any language -”

“Just say it.”

Aziraphale smiles – Crowley doesn't see it, pressed against his chest, but he knows it – and kisses him again. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Crowley wants it to be enough for now, wants his voice and words to be the balm he needs now. So he nuzzles against Aziraphale's neck, skin smooth and comforting.

“Do we have chocolate truffles?”, he asks, not really wanting them nor caring. He just wants to fill the silence around them, so thick and heavy it's sitting on his hips. He feels exhausted.

“Yes, darling, we do,” says Aziraphale between kisses.

And Crowley is eating him alive, teeth and tongue on him, kisses like electric bites. (the monster's heart is pounding -) “Fuck me.”

“Darling, you -”

“I don't need anything else now, Aziraphale,” he growls, his voice regaining its structure, its weight, “I need you, just you -”

He presses himself against Aziraphale, pushes him down on the mattress, straddles his lap. He needs him, he needs his weight inside, he needs -

“Let me ride you angel please please fuck me -” he almost slurs again, grinding against Aziraphale, kissing him relentlessly, afraid that the monster would take him – would eat his angel in just one bite if Crowley's not careful, if he stops kissing him and reclaiming him – _Aziraphale is mine mine mine_ \- “Please -”

Aziraphale, strong hands around his waist, flips him on his back. There's a gentle light around his face, Crowley can see it even with his heart pounding all over his body, the drums of chaos screaming in his ears. The lamp gives him a sweet orange shade around the cheeks. His eyes twinkles, and how Crowley loves his eyes. There's nothing he doesn't love about Aziraphale, and he almost breaks down when for a split second Aziraphale doesn't move, just look at him, because it's unbearable, a whole second too long.

“Let me take care of you, darling,” he whispers against Crowley's neck, chills all over Crowley's spine, “let me do all the work. Let me love you like you deserve.”

He spreads Crowley's legs, and that alone is enough to move him. The weight of his angel's hands, the space he occupies between his thighs. He has been so quick to hold him, console him. Crowley feels tears prickling his eyes, but he kisses Aziraphale and they just vanish. Aziraphale is stroking his thighs, fishing moans out of Crowley's mouth who starts to feel soft, bones made of jelly. Aziraphale's kisses are deep, sweet, full of light. He scrapes his chest with teeth and the tiniest hint of tongue, and Crowley arches his back. Aziraphale is here, alive, in the same timeline Crowley lives in. It's always somehow a miracle Crowley sometimes forgets it's real. He links his arms around Aziraphale's neck, mouths the hollows of his throat, the comfortable hint of his collarbones. Aziraphale is taming the monster like it's a lion cub, he's whispering to it, hissing like Crowley does. _Leave him alone for he's mine and mine alone and I shall smite you if you dare touch him again_.

“Tell me,” Crowley whines, “tell me, please.”

There's a smile on his angel's face. Crowley wants to live in it. “You're my missing piece, the one God put out in the world to give me purpose,” Aziraphale whispers, fingering him open, and Crowley whimpers, almost starts crying again, “you're how I learned to protect people. You're why I'm a protector.”

Crowley smiles at that, laughs for a second, full of grace. “And you're so good at it, angel.”

“Because I have you in mind, my darling, my soul.”

Crowley raises his hips, just the pants he's wearing are too much, he needs, he needs - “Please -” he needs to be closer to to him, to colonize a space between his ribs, or maybe he just needs a thousand kisses more, or maybe to start breathing through his lungs, or maybe just his tongue on his Adam's apple.

“Do not fret, sweetheart, I know what you need,” Aziraphale says, and he's right, of course he is, so Crowley relaxes. He sighs, his breath a hummingbird's fluttering wings, and spreads his legs wider, arms lazily abandoned behind his head. There's a shy smile that tints his face now, as his heart has stopped drumming incessantly. “Yo do, angel,” he smiles, voice as gentle as a kiss between shoulder blades. Aziraphale presses inside him, pushes languidly through his heat.

“I love you, Crowley,” he whispers, voice lower than before, almost a burning secret, “I love you, I love you, you're safe, you're mine, I love you so much...” his, his, his, Crowley's brain shouts, and it's a terrible and fearful thing, being loved so much the world turns inside out with a word, a smile.

“I love you, angel,” Crowley says with his eyes closed, “I – ah ! - I love you so much...”

Crowley is floating all around (no more monsters, no more nightmares, no more racing, violent thoughts) and the air glitters in his bloodstream. He closes his eyes again, goes back to the perfect world Aziraphale and he share.

(the next day Crowley wakes up to Aziraphale reading on his chest. He pauses instantly when he realizes Crowley is looking at him with drowsy eyes.

“Good morning, darling,” he smiles, kissing the tip of his nose. “It looks like you slept well.”

Crowley blinks, slowly realizing. “Uh, angel, mh - did I -”

“Yes, you did,” Aziraphale laughs and Crowley's face catch fire. “I wasn't aware I was so boring to you.”

“You're not!”, says Crowley, voice shrill. “I was just happy, I -”

“I know, darling, I was messing with you. Last night wasn't the first time it happened.”

“ _It wasn't_?”

“It wasn't, but you no need to worry, love. I find it absolutely delightful. You're so darling when you sleep so peacefully, and I'm so proud of myself knowing I'm the one who put you at peace.”

Crowley's smile is so large that invades every corner of his body. He cards his fingers through Aziraphale's hair. “It's your blasted influence.”

“That's fine by me.”

Aziraphale kisses him, first his lips then his heart, which is beating a spring tune, cherries and crickets and water lilies on the mirror-still surface. Aziraphale's weight on his stomach is solid, warm and real. Crowley closes his eyes again, but doesn't fall asleep. He's very much awake and fully aware. The monster is long forgotten, voiceless, clawless. He's happy.)

**Author's Note:**

> [come talk to me!](http://bebrave-andbekind.tumblr.com)


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